Child in the Midst
by Calyn
Summary: Miriam is ten, Ezra is three. While filling their water jug, they meet someone who will change their lives forever. Pretty much straight from the Bible, not offensive. Better than the cheesy summary sounds.


Just about the first _real_ story I ever wrote and finished. This was written a couple years ago. My take on one of my favorite scenes.

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Child in the Midst

"Little girl, would you lend your brother to me for a few minutes?"

The gentle voice startled ten-year-old Miriam and interrupted her thoughts, which mostly consisted of how long it would take her and her little brother Ezra to reach the front of the water-line. Who would have guessed that there would be a new teacher in the village square and the line for the well would be so long?

"Me, sir?" Miriam was surprised that he would speak to her, a young girl, when there were more important people about him. Holding her brother by one hand and her water jug in the other, Miriam turned to face the teacher. He was a young-looking man, clean shaven with brown hair streaked by the strong summer sun. He had a kind face and warm golden-brown eyes, which at the moment held a slightly amused expression.

"Yes, you," he said playfully, smiling at her. "I need a small child for my lesson. Would you consider loaning me your brother? I'll return him when you are finished filling your jug."

Head tilted on one side, Miriam considered this for a moment. Her mother had always told her not to trust strangers, especially now that Ezra was mostly blind. But this man was somehow different. His eyes seemed compassionate and honest, but she supposed that with practice even a criminal could make his eyes show an expression contradictory to his character. No matter, Miriam told herself decisively. Even if he isn't good, which I doubt very much, he couldn't possibly do anything to Ezra with this many people around.

With a sudden boldness she asked the teacher, "Who are you, sir?"

His smile grew. "Not many girls would be brave enough to ask that." Miriam blushed. He continued, "My name is Joshua."

Miriam eyed him thoughtfully despite her decision. "Could you—can he—may Ezra sit on your lap? He's usually more calm than when he's being held." She felt distinctly self-conscious making this request of the teacher, but she knew from past experience that Ezra would protest loudly if uncomfortable. After all, he was only three years old.

"Of course," replied Joshua, not at all put out by the question. The tension left Miriam. With great care she set down her jug and led Ezra over to Joshua. The little boy toddled along fully content with this new and completely unexpected turn of events. Some women in the crowd chuckled.

"Here, Ezra, you just sit on this nice man's lap and I'll be back soon." Miriam carefully handed the little boy over to Joshua and was rewarded with another smile.

"Thank you very much, Miriam."

The girl started. She hadn't told him her name. Then she shrugged. Miriam was a common name in her town. Lucky guess. She picked up her jug and headed back to the line. A kind teenager named Lydia had saved Miriam's spot for her. "Thank you," Miriam whispered gratefully to Lydia as the younger girl took her place once more.

Now that she was back in line, the gossip of the older women drowned out Joshua's voice. It annoyed Miriam. Since Joshua had borrowed her brother, Miriam was now related faintly to the teacher's lesson and would have liked to hear it.

Finally Miriam reached the front of the water line. She filled her jug and cautiously made her way over to where Joshua sat on the rock with Ezra contentedly on his lap. The little boy had the biggest grin on his face that Miriam had ever seen. She arrived just as Joshua finished speaking. He saw her and smiled.

"Look, Ezra, your sister's back. You've been a very good helper. Now go run along back to her." Ezra slipped off Joshua's lap and toddled back to Miriam. The crowd parted for him to pass and then closed tightly around Joshua.

Ezra reached Miriam and tugged at her dress. Miriam was annoyed by the pull. No matter how many times she told him to stop, he always did it when he wanted her attention. She glanced down at him. "Now what, Ezra?"

"Miwiam, et's go ome," he said in his childish lisp, brown eyes flashing with excitement.

"Alright, Ezra. Come on, we'll go past—wait a minute." Miriam broke off. Brown eyes? Ezra's eyes had been a cloudy blue ever since… ever since…

"Ezra." Miriam struggled to keep her voice calm as she went down on one knee in front of her brother. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two."

It was the first time he had ever gotten the question right. Miriam was amazed. Then she gasped. He could see.

"Pease can we go ome?"

"In a minute, Ezra. I need to say something to Joshua." Miriam stood up. She tried unsuccessfully to see him through the crowd. It was too thick, and she couldn't push through. It went against all her upbringing to leave someone without thanking them for a gift they'd given. But she had no choice. It was impossible to get near the teacher.

As Miriam turned homeward, her little brother babbling wildly at all the new sights, she suddenly had the inexplicable feeling that it was alright that she couldn't thank Joshua at that moment. She felt sure that she would have the opportunity sometime in the future. It might be days from now, it might be weeks or months, but the chance would come.

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_It was a cold, dark Friday evening. Miriam laid her head against the cold stone. The mourners were gone. The mother was gone. The friends were gone. She knelt alone by the tomb. There was no name, no dates, no inscription of his life on a gravestone. There was only a roughly hewn rock set before a cave of granite._

_It was a cold, dark Friday evening. Miriam knew in her heart it was too late for words to matter, but she owed him a debt that she still needed to pay. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much." With the words came relief. She was weary to the bone and she felt she could sleep until Sunday morning. She whispered one last time, "Thank you, Joshua," then fell soundly asleep._

_It was a cold, dark Friday evening. It was a day Miriam would remember. It was a day the world would remember._

_It was a cold, dark Friday evening—the evening of Good Friday._

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_Reviews welcome.


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